


Phone-In Show

by kolibris



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Boundary Issues, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Teaching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 23:10:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20515034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kolibris/pseuds/kolibris
Summary: Bros teaching bros the fine art of choking the chicken. Because what else are friends for?





	Phone-In Show

**Author's Note:**

> I straight up stole the idea for this from someone’s throwaway anecdote on Bad Bad Bathhouse. Sorry, anon, for turning your story about your friends into porn. That’s just how I do.
> 
> (Apologies to [The Members](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3gUctuSpL3s).)

Ann and Ryuji can argue over just about anything, and today their argument is over porn.

It’s the worst time for this because finals are coming up fast and they’ve picked just right now to start studying, but it only took the better part of half an hour for their attention spans to start wandering and once they butt heads over something, it’s anyone’s guess how long they’ll go on for. Akira props his elbow up on his open textbook, already long forgotten, and watches them go back and forth.

“Who even likes watching porn that much? Seriously? It’s super fake and super weird,” Ann says.

“Whatever,” Ryuji scoffs, “like you don’t rub one out to foot-long dongs or somethin’. Betcha run straight home from Shujin so you can cruise around for videos of Mr. Horsedick.”

“Um, out of all of us here, you’d definitely be the one who’d do it to porn every day.”

Ryuji gives her a cautious sideeye. “So?”

“_So?_” Ann howls. “Ahaha, no way! You do? That’s so gross! You perv!”

“Hey, I don’t have to take your crap,” Ryuji says. “What’s wrong with a guy havin’ a healthy libido! Every man does it! Right, Akira?”

“I don’t,” Akira protests.

“Oh, shut up,” Ann says.

“It’s true.”

Ryuji drops his jaw – “Dude! Back me up here!” he cries – but Ann just looks intrigued and says, “Like, at all?”

Akira looks down at the pencil he’s fiddling with, suddenly finding it much more interesting than Ann’s curious stare. “I just don’t do it.”

“But why not—” 

The question isn’t even out of her mouth before the three of them turn around at the door’s bells jingling, watching Sojiro haul in a few bags of groceries. He settles the bags on the counter and greets them with an easy “Hey there,” but something about the way they look must tip him off. “What, did I interrupt something?”

“Nope, Boss! We were just studying!” Ann squeaks out.

“Mmm, good job,” Sojiro says, although the sheer amount of disbelief in his voice undercuts the compliment.

Akira looks back down to his textbook to keep up appearances, but he’s just kidding himself at this point: there’s no way they look anything like wholesome, productive students with their faces all a various shade of guilty. He tries his hardest to really focus, but after banging their heads against their calculus review for another hour, the three of them finally realize their mistake of tackling this without Makoto. After that, Ryuji and Ann officially give up and leave to catch the next train home.

Akira had almost thought about going out for the night too, but after bumbling through helping Sojiro pack up and his usual dinner leftovers blurring together in a curry-fueled haze, forget it.

Tonight, he’s staying in.

He runs through his routine – brushing his teeth, a splash of water on his face before he puts on his scrubbiest lounge clothes – and then he’s up the stairs to the attic, alone. It’s rare for Akira to be by himself now, and it’s boring and lonely and honestly kind of weird, so he looks for an easy distraction. There’s always a DVD, like that documentary on Vague that Ann lent him and he still hasn’t returned, but he knows Morgana would freak over finishing it without him, like he was so invested in high-stakes magazine drama or something. He’d wait until Morgana got back if he valued his life.

As he turns it over in his head, he’s popped out of his thoughts by his phone ringing. That fixes the boredom part. There’s only one person who likes to call him this late at night to vent so he barely glances at the screen before answering. “Hey, Ryuji.” 

“I hate you so much right now.”

Oh, that maybe wasn’t what Akira was expecting to hear. “What did I do?”

“I got Ann over here textin’ me about _your_ jerkoff habits ‘cause somehow _I_ should know why you don’t do it. What the hell!”

“She is?”

“Yeah she is! Like, in full freak detective mode! Dude, she’s never grilled anyone for details about me like that. Shit ain’t fair.”

“Sorry? I don’t know what to tell you.”

“You can’t feel bad for me even a little? Geez…” Ryuji sighs. “Why’d you have to go and lie like that?”

“I wasn’t lying,” Akira says.

“Seriously?” Ryuji sounds completely unconvinced. Slowly, though, he must start to take in Akira’s silence. “...Wait, _seriously?_ Are you for real? You don’t?”

Akira thinks he was clear only every single time he said it, but Ryuji could be just that bad at paying attention. “Yeah, really, I don’t.” Then he hesitates. Actually, if he’s open about this, then what isn’t there to get? So he lowers his voice a little and admits, “Actually… I’ve never done it,” and then he jerks his head away from the punch of volume directly into his ear.

“Dude!! No way!! Why?! You never even tried it? You’re not on that nofap shit, are you?”

“What? No—”

“Can you like, not get it up?”

“NO! It works! It’s just…” Akira trails off, not sure how to explain.

It’s just that, you know, it never really mattered. 

He’s always heard everyone bullshit about it—slow days in class or in the locker room, whatever—something every guy does, but that he never bothered with. God knows he had plenty of opportunities before. His dick was never shy about showing up uninvited, but when it did, there was just nothing tempting about it. Instead he’d let it go soft and he’d move on with his life, and besides the occasional sticky sheets that was the end of it. One day he realized that it was probably something he should’ve tried by then, should’ve known how to do—so if he didn’t, then what was the point of figuring it out now? 

His body takes care of it one way or another, so introducing his hand into the equation just sounds unnecessary. Not to mention one other glaring problem: “I guess… I don’t really know how?”

“Damn… this is blowing my mind… this is like, a critical man experience…” He hears Ryuji make an embarrassed noise. “Oh wait, sorry, I didn’t mean it like… hey, it’s cool if you don’t! You do you, man! But... you never looked this shit up or nothin’?”

“Who looks up something like that?” Or, who _needs_ to look up something like that?

“Uh, hmm, fair ‘nough.”

“Guess you got your answer for Ann, huh? Haha.”

There’s a moment of quiet on the other end. “Well… I’m not gonna tell her nothing, so don’t worry. This is stayin’ safe with me.”

“I mean, it’s not a big deal,” Akira says. “I don’t care if she knows.”

“Uh? But, uh, I… okay then.” Ryuji pauses for an even longer time after that. He doesn’t have to say anything when the sheer awkwardness between them is practically audible, anyway. “Hey, it’s late, so I’ll let you go, man. Sorry for keepin’ you. See you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah. See you. ‘Night.”

Akira lowers his phone and flops back onto his bed. He didn’t… _think_ this was anything he had to feel weird about, but now he feels a little self-conscious. Was this the kind of reaction he should’ve been expecting? Some kind of mannish inquisition? A dip and run, from Ryuji of all people? Akira probably shouldn’t have said anything at all. Still, if anybody had to know, at least it was Ryuji. And now Ann might too, maybe, possibly. School sure is going to be interesting tomorrow.

Then he nearly launches off the bed from his phone going off in his hand for the second time that night. He lets it ring, and ring, and then he gets his head together enough to figure that he should probably pick up.

“…Ryuji?”

“Yeah, it’s me again,” Ryuji says. “Hey… this is gonna bug me. You’re really never gonna do it?”

Wait. What? It takes Akira a second to even respond because he’s a little busy being flabbergasted. “I didn’t say _never_, I just… I dunno, maybe, if I could.”

“It ain’t rocket science. You just think of something hot and then you whack it ‘til you’re done.” 

Akira only answers with a grumble into the phone, soft and dismissive, and Ryuji fires back with, “Come on! It’s that easy!”

“I don’t know,” Akira says.

“I bet you could do it right now.”

“On the phone, like a pervert?”

“That ain’t what I meant,” Ryuji says, which of course it wasn’t, but then a beat later he goes, “_oh_—wait, yeah, you _could_—”

“_What?_”

“—Like coaching, or something—hey, don’t make it sound like that!” Ryuji says, and Akira can’t imagine he’s making it sound any different than it already does. “Like coaching, man, you said it yourself you don’t know how.”

“Coaching? Who’d coach me?” Akira asks. “You?”

“Sure I would,” Ryuji says. “I got tonsa good advice I can drop on you. Not to brag, but I’m pretty much a professional.”

Who knows what it is. Maybe it’s his current lack of brain functioning, or maybe it’s the promise of getting rid of what might be a newfound hang-up, but either way something convinces Akira to hesitantly reply, “Okay, if you really want to.”

“Yeah? Alriiiiight, brother! You just leave this to me!” But there’s no time for Akira to celebrate too—is that what they’re doing?—because Ryuji launches straight into an overwhelming lecture: “First, you gotta get prepared. It’s like hittin’ a meet without all your gear—you’re gonna do it half-assed at best. But you don’t need nothing fancy, you got everything you need already. ‘Cause you got tissues at least, right? Go grab those.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, and that’s pretty much it. Some guys are gonna say you need lube but that’s bullshit. Long as you don’t grab your dick like you’re gonna rip the damn thing off, you’re cool. Oh, but don’t chafe it, man! If it’s feelin’ dry, spit works great.”

“Ryuji, hold on, right now?”

“Wait,” Ryuji interrupts him, “you don’t got anything to look at, do you? Gimme one second. I’ll send you something good. But if you ever show this to Ann I’ll kill you, okay?”

Akira eyes the link that pops up in their chat with justifiable suspicion. “Oh. Um, thanks.”

“See? I got your back.”

He doesn’t open it though, because really, he knows better than that. And the tissues—well, he has one freebie pack left in his schoolbag, but it’s the one with some random balding businessman on the front and that sounds even less appealing to look at than whatever Ryuji sent over. Yeah, probably better to leave them both alone. It’s just practice, after all.

“So? You all set or what?” Ryuji says.

“Almost,” Akira says, “hold on.” 

Before he can think too much about it, he shimmies his sweats and underwear down to his thighs. He shoots a guilty glance towards the staircase, even though he’ll be the only one in Leblanc for a long while. 

“Uh, I’m, I’m ready.”

“Okay, cool. Just start and I’ll help you out.”

Oh, like it’s that simple? He gives himself a cursory squeeze. “I don’t… How do I know if I…?”

“Just touch it, man.”

So Akira does and, well, it doesn’t feel all that special, just randomly pawing at his dick like this, but it starts to stiffen under his touch anyway. Getting himself hard isn’t that difficult, though. Even the backdraft of a Garu could do that. And it’s not really exciting, or fun, or even actually good. It’s just sort of… happening.

After a minute of fumbling around, he’s made it comfortably to awkward-in-public hard, so he figures that must be good enough. “So now what?”

“_Dude,_” Ryuji says.

Akira frowns. “What?”

“Y’know, you just… keep going? Don’t you wanna?”

He runs his hand a pass up and down his length and it sadly bobs around. Already he’s not impressed. “Not really.”

“Shit,” Ryuji muses. “I was kinda just thinkin’ you needed some motivation here. Like a kick in the ass, then bam! Trainin’ wheels off, doin’ it like a pro ‘cause you finally got it. Hm. Didn’t think there was something even you can’t do.” Akira’s frown quirks itself into confusion, half-complimented and half-insulted. “This is some real serious shit. Good thing I’m here, huh?”

“I’m kind of regretting it now.”

“No time for regrets, man. You’re gonna do a drill! Do it for five minutes straight! I’m timin’ you!”

Akira huffs and sadly shelves the eyeroll he has ready to go because there’s no one here to see it. He goes back to moving his hand instead, in stuttering, stilted flicks of his wrist that flops his dick through his fist. He… still doesn’t really feel anything. Just frustration, because he’s always known there’s something he’s missing, because Ryuji is waiting on the other end for results.

It’s not long before Akira becomes determined enough to reach out for help. “What’s the best way to do this?”

Ryuji hums in contemplation. “There’s no right answer there. That’s just personal preference, you know? Everybody does their own thing so you gotta do whatever _you_ like,” he says, in that pleased way he gets whenever he feels really smart.

“Well, how do you do it?”

“Me?” Ryuji gawps. “Uh, I just… uh…” The change is immediate. He quiets right down into this low, annoyed tone of voice – _shy_ almost, if Akira really thought about it. “I just do it normally…”

“Okay, but how? The details.”

“Like, how I hold it…?”

“Yeah.”

Ryuji sighs under his breath. “I, uh… dude, I just grab it, I don’t know. I’m not makin’ a fist, I just… hold it more with my fingers? So I can move ‘em around easier, you know? ‘Cause… I like doin’ different things…”

“Oh, okay.” It’s not a lot to go on, but Akira mimics his grip as best he can. Something a little loose, yet a little precise. He’s not really sure if he’s getting it. Maybe a picture? No, he can already guess how that request will go. “Like what?”

“You know…” Ryuji draws out, almost soundless. “Just… uh, my hand… just…” Then he loudly, irritably groans. “Shit, I can’t talk about this… just. Just do whatever feels good! That’s what I do! And…”

“Uh huh?”

“…And I don’t go super fast at first. Later I can go more like… faster and tighter.”

“So, slower?”

“Yeah, don’t think you gotta go a hundred percent right away. The more you’re worked up, the harder you can go.”

Akira focuses on going slower, smoother, slicker. It’s more deliberate than he thought he’d have to be, like maybe he’s thinking too hard about this, but he keeps to his rhythm and pushes on. And there’s something different to it this time. A little twinge to his skin, a quick pulse in his dick that makes a tiny “_mmm_,” escape his mouth before he can even hold it in.

“S’it feeling okay…?”

“Ah, yeah, I think so.”

“Oh. Good!” Ryuji says, satisfied, his annoyance all gone. There’s a rustle through the earpiece. “Hey, that’s five minutes.”

Akira doesn’t stop moving his hand. “Already?”

“You wanna do another five? Go wild, man.”

Akira nods, then goes wild by stroking at a pace one step faster than grass growing. “So. So this is it? This is all I have to do?”

“Naw, man, you can do whatever you want! Change it up! Go slow if you wanna, stick to one spot if you wanna… you keep lookin’ for like, hard and fast rules but there are none.”

He goes exploring more with his hand, traveling up to his tip, and now when he brushes his thumb up near his slit, he’s a little slick. It makes his foreskin slide velvet-smooth over the head as he moves a little faster – kind of weird, because his head feels sensitive, but it’s less like he wants to avoid it. More like it’s becoming irresistible.

“So… the video? Riiiiiight? It’s pretty good, huh?”

“Yup,” Akira lies. Like he could really focus on that and Ryuji’s input at the same time. Easier to concentrate on Ryuji’s voice instead, his motor mouth running a constant stream of familiar white noise into Akira’s ears.

“Actin’ all uninterested when you got it,” Ryuji blabs on, “like I don’t know what I’m talkin’ about. That’s why you gotta trust me sometimes. You think I was gonna just show you some freakin’ garbage? C’mon, I know you better than that. I probably should’ve showed you sooner.”

“It’s okay,” Akira says. “Maybe I don’t need it.”

Because there’s one spot that feels extra good, right under the head. Akira gives it a little extra attention with his fingers, sweet pressure rolling right on it, and he shivers a little sigh into the phone.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, when I do it, it feels better if I’m right at the tip. Staying right there.”

Ryuji snickers, a little shy again. “Hah, yeah, I uh, I like that too. Hehe.”

And Akira keeps touching it, and touching it, going harder, going faster, until a different feeling creeps up, like hitting a wall. He stills his hand. He starts up again, but that sensation won’t leave him alone.

“Ah… it feels kinda weird. Feels like I should stop.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Like there’s this… tightness. Pressure.” Like there’s something coiled tight deep down in him, starting to squeeze its way up his body from the inside out.

“Oh!” Ryuji says. “Means whatever you’re doing is workin’! Right? It feels good?”

“Yeah, it does, but…”

“Then it’s fine. Just let it happen.”

"O-Okay. Mmm." 

Akira jacks himself faster, keeping his hand tight at the top of his dick while his head lolls back loose. He tries to remember how much time he has left, but it seems like Ryuji hasn’t mentioned it. Maybe he’s not going to, or maybe he already has; does it even matter? Akira’s at the wall and he’s scaling it, ready to go over it, _through_ it. 

He can practically hear the grin in Ryuji’s voice. “So, you good now? Think you got it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m. I’m good.”

Ryuji exhales briskly at that, radiating pure smug self-satisfaction through the receiver. “Damn, I ain’t half bad as a coach. I think my work here is done.”

“Uhn,” Akira tries to agree, but his mouth isn’t working right. Neither is his brain. He’s going a little mindless. “Uh huh.”

“See? Wasn’t I right all along? Nothin’ to it!”

“Right, right…” And his feet won’t stop moving. Heels rubbing against the sheets. Toes curling in on themselves. Nerves picking up fast, just like his breathing, coming to life in anticipation of _it_. Can’t even fathom what _it_ is, but he knows it’s coming, can feel it in his bones.

“Just don’t get too carried away, yeah? Can’t have you beatin’ your meat in that attic all day now that you know what it’s like. Hehehe. We still got our job n’ shit to do.”

“Ah, I, I won’t… aahhh_hhn_—?”

Akira tenses his legs tight, and Ryuji’s voice blips out of existence.

“Akira?”

But Akira isn’t here right now, because for the next five seconds, he’s out of his brain and shooting his soul out through his dick.

He comes back to himself just as fast, a little trouble focusing because he’s still softly pumping with aftershocks, the pulses he’d feel sometimes after a wet dream but made all the better from the build-up beforehand. He eases up on the death-grip squeeze on his phone and just breathes and lies there in perfect contentment. No crazy sense of accomplishment or anything. Just feeling clear and simple. Like he walked in through the door to paradise and walked right back out, like he’s just existing. Yeah, way better than any wet dream.

He dazedly runs his hand up over his chest and accidentally smears the come he’d splattered there, gone high enough even to catch in his collarbone. “Mmmm.”

“Uh, did you—?” Ryuji’s pitch climbs higher, and higher, and higher, “Did you—I heard—oh shit!”

“_Ryuji_,” he sighs happily, “I did it.”

“Oh shit! Oh shit, dude!” Ryuji hollers in his ear. “Akira, I thought you were gonna hang up first!!”

“Huh?”

“Whaddya mean, _huh?_ I wasn’t supposed to hear you actually… ugh, you moron! You can’t rewind that shit!”

“Oh. Sorry.” Akira calmly considers the fact that he just orgasmed over the phone as he rolls up to sit on the edge of his bed. He happens to glance back over and calmly considers the fact that he also orgasmed straight onto the wall behind him. “Oh god, it’s everywhere.”

“HUH?!” Ryuji parrots back at him. “The hell are you talkin’ about? Where was your tissue?! Awww, wait, nevermind! Just stop!”

Akira only truly appreciates the need for gear once he rummages the tissue pack out of his bag one-handed, and it takes the whole thing to clean up his hand, then the wall, then himself. The used wads get dropped on top of the businessman wrapper in his trashcan, which feels vaguely disrespectful. Speaking of which, he’s left Ryuji waiting on the other end, who’s still fuming to himself instead of just hanging up and going to bed.

“Hey, Ryuji,” Akira tries nicely. “Thanks.”

Ryuji grumbles. “Some way of thankin’ me.”

“You didn’t have to, but you really helped me out. I didn’t think I’d be able to do this… ever. So.” Akira clears his throat. “Thank you.”

“Cool, so I teach you something and my reward is bein’ haunted by you busting a nut? How’s that sound fair? Dude, ramen at the very least!”

“Sure? …Tomorrow?”

“And for sure I’m gettin’ extra noodles. And double meat. Triple meat. Then _maybe_ we’ll call it even.”

“Meat for meat,” Akira agrees, and with a scream, Ryuji flips out all over again.


End file.
